


Paper Planes and Champagne

by CompletelyCreative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fandom-songs challenge, Fluff, M/M, Mute Castiel, Weddings, fswc, its just great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyCreative/pseuds/CompletelyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if he could talk, he wouldn't know what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Planes and Champagne

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of my Fandom-Songs 30 Day Writing Challenge (which I'm not gonna post right now cause its late af)
> 
> This is based off of the song 'Fader' by The Temper Trap

They met on a boat, for a celebration of a wedding. Castiel was there for the bride -- he gave her away. Dean was there for the groom -- he was best man. Jess’s best friend, and Sam’s big brother, stood on opposite ends of the alter as rings were exchanged, and tears were replacing the dust on the floor. They stood next to one another during the first dance, watching with different types of love, but it was adoration all the same. They turned to each other on impulse, and snapped the roses out of each others’ eyes. It was a heat-of-the-moment kind of turn, looking to the bride’s reason for happiness (well, before the wedding, obviously), and looking to the groom’s reason for hope (again, before the wedding). They found each other startled, looking into empty minds that felt the same brick wall that was new-found loneliness. The best man had no little brother to bully and boss around anymore, and the best friend no longer had some one to go to on late Friday nights. They shared a moment, facing each other, as Jess and Sam leaned into each other on the dance floor and the attendance clapped and cheered. They didn’t say a word, and stepped away from each other.

It was only when Castiel had had a few more champagnes, and Dean had yet another go at the rum and whiskey, did they see each other again. It was from across the room, for Dean could feel the glow that came from Castiel’s rosy cheeks. He turned to look, and bright eyes were fixed on him as cocktail dresses and rent-a-tuxes passed between them. Dean looked down at his own suit, only seeing it in dim light. He had on a black tuxedo that was trimmed to his lengths, and his now-undone tie shone dark-red against the flashing lights. He drew his gaze back up to champagne and bubbling eyes, and wanted to study the crisp but smooth white suit that Castiel wore. His bow-tie, which was loosened, but still done, was a gleaming blue that matched the color of a late-afternoon sky, which in turn matched his eyes, and so on. Dean wondered if this man knew that he was going to impress someone tonight, or if he just always looked that... stunning. It wasn’t his wedding night, but he was seeing light for the first time, and it was looking right back at him, from across the room.

Or maybe it was just the rum.

Dean looked at his hands, which were dry and frozen from holding a cold alcohol that he wasn’t even interested in anymore, and wanted to check his hair. He wanted to check his clothes, he wanted to check his socks, he wanted to check the small cut that he accidentally gave himself while shaving that morning. He wanted to check his stubble. He should have shaved twice. Was this boat moving? He wanted to get off.

He felt a light bump on the top of his head, and noticed a crumpled piece of paper land at his feet. He reached for it, but didn’t unravel it, or rip it. He simply looked at it, from the outside, wondering if he should get in. There was surely writing on it, he could see smeared ink... Did someone throw this? Or was this boat just moving too fast?

Dean looked left and right but never up, and unraveled the piece of paper. It had one word in it.

‘Hey.’ The ‘y’ was smeared under the thumb that wrote it, and the upper right corner of the note was ripped off. The handwriting was jagged and thin, tall, like the signature of someone born in the Bronx. Dean was fond of it. He looked up, taking his chances, and bright eyes were still fixed on him. Maybe they winked. He licked his lips and drew a pen out of his chest pocket, and flipped the note over.

‘Hey, you.’ But he looked over the writing, bit the end of his pen, and scribbled out the ‘you’. The ‘y’ wasn’t even smudged. When he looked back up, bright eyes were looking out into the sloshing water that foamed against the bow of the ship. Dean thanked his right arm for playing baseball all those years ago, and took his chances. The paper came down onto the rim of the third glass of champagne, and teetered into the empty glass. He decided to follow Castiel’s smart suit and watch the waves disturb the reflection of the boat lights. It was calming. 

Sure enough, Dean’s chances worked in favor of him. A piece of paper slid to land right in front of his place at the table in front of him, and he turned to see that it was a paper plane. He didn’t know who wouldn’t resist a smile at a paper plane delivered right to you, and he didn’t talk to his father anymore, so he didn’t count. He tried to, like before, be careful in unfolding the text, and found the name ‘Castiel’ that swirled in calligraphy. Even though the font was similar to all of the other name tags around him, he found the swirls in the ‘C’ to be especially captivating. The ‘tiel’ was crossed out with a contrasted black sharpie, to only spell an elegant ‘Cas.’ Dean wasted no time in sending his own name back, but it still didn’t feel as graceful. 

He watched as Castiel unfolded the paper, and squinted his eyes. In the lights, and in the blur and in the water and the boat that was moving very fast, Dean couldn’t make out if it was a positive or negative thing. In the lights, and the blur, and the water, he started to act on impulse. He grabbed the nearest name card, not caring whose it was, and scribbled something down frantically. He felt like such a Romeo, writing it, and it wasn’t even his wedding night, but he was seeing this light and he was desperate to not let it go away. 

Or maybe it was just the whiskey. He didn’t know.

When he looked up, though, the seat across the room was empty. The boat’s lobby light was on. Dean took a light jog through the blinking lights and almost lost his balance -- this boat really needed to slow down -- over a few chairs, but found his way to the lobby. There, looking out an open window, was the new Castiel, or elegant ‘Cas.’ He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and Dean wasn’t even sure if smoking was allowed on the boat. He looked like he was pulled straight out of a 40’s Radio City painting, and put right in front of Dean for his own admiration, and it made Dean weak looking at the sight in warm light. Castiel’s hair was combed back, with a gelled cowlick hanging in front of his eyes, and his sharp white suit looked even better when it was hidden behind a curtain of faint cigarette smoke. Dean made sure that his hair was patted down in the way that he didn’t like it (but Sam insisted), and unbuttoned his blazer -- he needed some air. He crumbled up the name card in his hand, and stood opposite Castiel. He cleared his throat.

‘Um... Hey. Cas.’ There was no reply, not even a nod. Dean looked around himself. ‘Er... uh, sorry, am I interrupting somethin’?’

Once again, Castiel didn’t say anything, but drew a pen and a small paper out of his pants pocket. He wrote down three words, and Dean just prayed that they weren’t along the lines of ‘please go away.’ Castiel showed him the paper, and Dean swallowed.

‘I don’t speak.’

‘Oh, well, uh...’ he scratched the back of his head, ‘sorry about that, buddy... how’d it happen?’ Castiel blew smoke and showed Dean his left hand. His fingers were curled up in a ball that typically gestured a ‘fist bump, man,’ but Castiel instead had letters on his fingers. It was only then that Dean noticed that Castiel’s hands were covered in black and gray. There were letters, numbers, and symbols, and the words ‘YES’ and ‘NO’ tattooed on his palms. Right hand was yes. Left was No. But the letters that Castiel showed Dean right then, spelled out, ‘MUTE.’ Dean just nodded -- he was the one who could speak, but he couldn’t say a word.

A few minutes passed, and Castiel glanced over to Dean once again. He looked puzzled, a bit confused. Dean’s throat was dry. 

‘What happened?’ Castiel just shook his head. Nothing. He wrote something down.

I’m just surprised you’re still here.

Dean sighed in relief. He didn’t want him to go, not yet. He still had a chance. He couldn’t help a smile.

‘Well... I think I’m gonna be interested in you for a while.’ Castiel wrote something else down. There was no emotion on his face.

But words.

‘I’ll say them for you.’ 

Castiel put his paper and pen back into his pocket, and smiled. Dean let the name card that had been cutting into his hand float down to the water when he wasn’t looking. They forgot about paper planes. They got off the boat together. It hadn’t moved a foot from the dock.

The words, ‘Will You Marry Me’ sank to the ocean floor that night.

Four years later, the pair found themselves on a boat again, for yet another wedding that wasn’t theirs. Dean was wearing a black suit with a dark red tie, and Castiel found a crumpled name tag landing in his champagne glass. He picked it out of the drink and shook it off, careful to unwrap it. In it was some simple text. It was his own name, in swirled calligraphy, with the ‘tiel’ crossed off with cheap sharpie. It was tarnished, and sullied. It was an old paper plane that he once took the aim to send flying across the room. It came back. Below his name, was the scrawl in the handwriting of someone from the south. 

It read, ‘Will You Marry Me?’ and the ‘y’ was perfectly smudged.

He kissed his right hand.


End file.
